I hold the deep within this heart,
The love I possess is that, an art.
The cruel intentions of your games did play,
I knew our love would not be known in any way.
Perhaps you do not love me back. What am I to think?
All along, you wrote these riddles, in your wickedly devious ink.
To believe it, when your words spill so fondly around her sly face?
The facts are truely difficult to perceive, even I could not find a trace.
What is to become of this world belonging to us? Will you let it fall?
Or perhaps it is my turn to play, and I shall make you crawl.
For all the hurt you've made me endure, and for all the times you lied,
Why must I bide my life for you? All you do is make me cry.
I do so wish to run away, and do my best to hide.
For everyday you say to stay, is when i wonder why?

 
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